


feeling a lot of deja vu again

by la_faye_tte



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, M/M, Mentions of Death, Multi, Reincarnation AU, Swearing, more tags to be added along the way if I ever add on to this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:21:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22933981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_faye_tte/pseuds/la_faye_tte
Summary: Ted’s been going about his life normally until he gets these dreams, nightmares, and little deja vu moments. Until it hits him (like a kick to the head) that he used to be Agent Curt Mega. Cursed with his ex-lover's physical appearance and plagued by his past life, he'll do what it takes to numb the pain of it all.Paul has always known. And he was fine with an average, low-profile life now. That was, until he'd once again met the reincarnation of his past in the form of his co-worker. Well, it might be the time for Owen Carvour to take up acting once more.(This is an ambitious SAF x TGWDLM reincarnation au)
Relationships: Chai Coffee - Relationship, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega, Paul Matthews/Ted, curtwen - Relationship
Comments: 25
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have been haunted for months by parallels, so here’s an ambitious Spies are Forever and TGWDLM crossover where Curt Mega is reincarnated as Ted and Owen Carvour is reincarnated as Paul Matthews. Whether this will have more parts, is subject to reception (and my time or motivation to actually write more).

It was the same old haunting memories, Ted wished they’d stop, he remembered having been Agent Curt Mega already, he didn’t need to stay chained to the ghost that was long gone. Hell, he didn’t even want to remember. He just wanted to wake up one day, knowing Ted is all he was and all he’ll ever be. Just once, he wanted to wake up able to look at his damn reflection without seeing the face he put a bullet in all those decades ago. Not even the cracks in the glass, which he caused in a fit of angst, let him unsee the sight that plagued him for years. It was disconcerting listening to himself speak and not recall the venom that once tainted his voice, God, at least he wasn’t reincarnated British, how maddening would that be? 

Abandoning his vice turned out to be for nothing if this was how he was meant to live in this lifetime, so he returned to the bittersweet arms and throat-burning sensation of alcohol. It didn’t really matter, there was nothing and no one to try being a good person for anyway. Agent Curt Mega had his mother, Tatiana, Barb, the Informant, even Cynthia. And Ted? Well, Ted had no one. It wasn’t that he never tried looking for them in the people he interacted in now, but they simply weren’t there. Charlotte, Bill, Melissa, Mr. Davidson, Paul, and literally everyone else in Hatchetfield were their own persons. Except maybe that crabby barista that very much reminded him of that equally crabby waitress at Richman’s Casino, but that information wouldn’t do much for him even if it were true.

There were days when he’d be grateful he never saw Owen in anyone, but then he’d pass by a mirror and- oh, that’s right. Ugh, why couldn’t the universe just let him be? Why did the universe have to take “spies are forever” literally? It wasn’t even amusing the first time around with Owen. And, he’s back in the depths of the memories that broke his heart beyond repair. Yeah, Curt Mega’s pretty sure he’s cursed beyond reasonable doubt.

* * *

Paul jolted awake in bed. It was that feeling of his soul being dropped back into his body after dreaming of falling. Falling was the most familiar feeling in the world to him. This wouldn’t be the first time it happened, but it still knocked the wind out of his lungs and made his heart race. He hated waking up like this. These weren’t even dreams, these were memories. Half the time he kept expecting he’d wake up in that Russian Weapons Facility turned inferno or yet another Russian Weapons Facility but expecting cold concrete instead of fire and brimstone. Still, he’s still just in his bed in good ol’ Hatchetfield. 

Hatchetfield was supposed to be a decent change of pace, much more mundane than a life of espionage, treason, and other crimes against national security. Owen Carvour was alright with settling into the persona of a completely average person. Sure, “the guy who didn’t like musicals” isn’t as colorful a moniker as “the deadliest man alive” but it’s not the worst. He wasn’t too fond of being reborn American, but there was nothing to be done about that. It was fine, he’d made friends- well, mostly acquaintances, gotten a lot more time to himself, and got himself a pretty stable job. This life was safer, even if it meant he could no longer flex about being the best spy there ever was. It was okay, because he no longer had to be a subordinate to a group dedicated to causing the world to fall apart.

That was, until… he met the reincarnation of his past downfall. He cursed the moment he’d seen him. Apparently, he couldn’t have his face back but sure, give it to Curt fucking Mega. The rage and betrayal threatened to bubble over the surface, but he was going to hold back. He was not going to expose his past life to Curt. No more impulses, no more reveals, play the long game again. So Owen forced out a smile, held out a hand to his new co-worker, Ted, and introduced himself as Paul Matthews.


	2. Chapter 2

It started with a night out, courtesy of their work section, but neither were really in the mood for fraternization. Vices die hard so Ted downed as much alcohol as he could, anything to forget or at least render him numb until whenever the effect wears off. Sure, he ran the risk of alcohol poisoning, but really, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Maybe if this kills him, he might just wake up in yet another lifetime and still be cursed with the memories and hurt. How much worse could it be? Maybe he’d be reincarnated British instead for the additional torture. Great. As if he didn’t need more of that.

Paul, on the other hand, was more cautious, keeping his alcohol intake at a moderate level. He couldn’t afford another slip-up now, could he? And if he was going to get answers, now would be the time for it. So after Ted has downed yet another shot, which everyone lost count of, Paul politely and graciously offers to drive him home. While the others wondered how anyone could ever offer to put up with a shitfaced-drunk Ted, they didn’t really question it since Paul never really liked all the noise and the karaoke was about to begin. 

Ted was lighter than he expected, but then again, this was Curt in his body and Paul’s not exactly as lanky as Owen used to be. Paul was beginning to have second thoughts about this at the idea of Ted possibly throwing up in the car but that was just a risk or a sacrifice he’d have to take.

The ordeal wasn’t as difficult as Paul thought it’d be. Ted sat in the back, slouching, frowning, distant and quiet. At least until the engine started running and, just to see if it’d trigger anything, Paul asked him “You alright back there, love?”

As suspected, he was right. Ted looked at him with clouded eyes and when he spoke, it was as if the breath has been knocked out of his lungs. “Owen?”

Figuring his mind isn’t clear enough to truly make the connection, Paul turned away to focus his attention on driving before speaking. “No, Ted. I’m Paul, remember? Who’s Owen?”

“Oh, right. Owen is… Was an ex of mine.” Ted slurred. Classic drunken mannerisms.

“Ex what? Boyfriend?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“D’you wanna talk about it?” Paul snuck a glimpse at him through the rearview mirror.

Ted turned towards the window, watching the passing buildings and lights through a hazy perspective. “Yeah” he sighed absentmindedly.

So it started. Half-coherent ramblings about his ex-lover. No mention of anything about spying, perhaps he wasn’t as tactless as Paul thought he’d be. The good thing about sitting in front and having Ted in the back meant Ted wouldn’t have to see the small discreet flashes of recognition that crossed Paul’s features when Ted talked about certain moments with wistfulness and fondness in his tone. Every time Ted tried to do a (horrible) British impression to quote whatever it was Owen once told him, Paul had to tell him to stop it or shut up. _I didn’t sound like that, did I?_ Sometimes Ted would trail off, most likely to leave out details of the secret service profession. Understandable.

And so it went until they arrived at Ted’s apartment. Upon opening the door, all Paul saw was a mess. There were scattered papers and food wrappers, piles of dirty laundry, and so many empty bottles it was a miracle Ted hasn’t tripped over them and impaled himself accidentally. _So this would be what he’s like without Mrs. Mega._ Even Owen had to concede to the fact that Mrs. Mega deserved so much appreciation and recognition.

The trip home allowed Ted to sober up somewhat but everything was mostly still a blur. It was weird having someone help him out during times like these where he’d gotten used to just passing out in the bar or on the street, a block away from the bar. The last time something similar happened was when he was with Barb, Tatiana and the Informant the night before they went off to face Baron Von Nazi and The Deadliest Man Alive. Curt had been more careful about his alcohol consumption since then, but Ted couldn’t care less anymore. 

Ted learned to live on his loneliness. He’d gotten so used to it that tonight was rare and strange. He wasn’t supposed to miss having company at times like these. He wasn’t supposed to feel lighter about telling someone else about Owen. That was his burden to bear. It always was and it always will be, but there was something about getting to open up about it. Hell, he hadn’t really opened up to anyone since Tatiana, and it wasn’t really him looking for advice or comfort, just, someone to listen. And of all the people in Hatchetfield, it just had to be Paul, hadn’t it? There’s nothing to really complain about, but he was pretty sure Paul hated him sometimes. Paul would never admit it in his presence. Though, to be fair, he can be quite insufferable sometimes. There just seemed to be some underlying resentment he couldn’t bother figuring out or caring about. Because when you’ve been alone in your grief and guilt for so long, you just stop caring, about anything, about anyone.

Who cares if he’s going to choose to be selfish tonight? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Besides, he’s got the alibi of being way too intoxicated to be discerning of whatever choices he’ll make tonight. Paul was nothing like Owen after all. A slip of the tongue probably didn’t mean anything. God, was he so pathetic as to get attached to the first person who helps him out in his sorry, inebriated state? Whatever. Paul’s a good guy, socially awkward most of the time, hates musicals, and isn’t a total stranger. It’s not like Ted’s really going to set the bar high when he’s not exactly the best of the best anymore. Anyway, the important thing to his intoxicated self right now is that Paul Matthews _isn’t_ Owen Carvour. 

So Ted tugs on Paul’s sleeve and asks him to stay. A look of surprise and confusion flashes across Paul’s features briefly before he schools it back to neutrality. Paul seems to think it over before replying. “Sorry Ted, I can’t. Why? Are you going to need help?”

“No, I think I just wanna thank you for bringing me home.” Ted slurred, rubbing a hand all over his face as he did.

“You don’t have to, it’s fine. I’ll just see you at work next week.”

“Paul, wait, uh. I was just thinking about something. Fuck it. I was thinking maybe I really should try moving on now. For good. With you, maybe?”

Paul was silent, observing him and probably wondering what on earth made Ted ask him that out of nowhere. Well, Ted’s shit-faced drunk after all, and blissfully clueless. Though the cluelessness was a good thing. He weighed his options; on one hand, saying no would mean he won’t risk falling in love with him all over again. On the other hand, saying yes meant he could use this as an opportunity to torture him. After all, Curt has never truly moved on now, has he? Before the silence could get too awkward, Paul finally settled on an answer, “Try asking me again when you’re sober.”

**Author's Note:**

> For any questions or suggestions about this au, please feel free to hmu in the comments section or my tumblr atty-goldstein.tumblr.com.


End file.
